


Sow's Ear

by Arithanas



Series: Love Demands Sacrifices [23]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Prayer, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Synopsis: 1643, Grimaud is not pleased when the young in his care intrude in a special instant between Athos and his highly regarded lady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sow's Ear

Lateness always made Grimaud edgy.

Midday was approaching in great speed, Grimaud was fully aware as he changed his shirt; there were things to do before the twelve were struck; he went into the kitchen, stuffing the tails of his shirt inside the waistband. The master was fussy when the grooming habits of the service were the issue.

"Masters' food," he grunted, pulling his jerkin over his shoulders.

"It's done, garnished and ready to go!" Euphrasie called from the big cauldron where she was full with that night ragout. "As usual! You don't need to be all cantankerous about it!"

Grimaud only heed that it was ready, the rest was commentary and Euphrasie was full of them; Grimaud never had time for remarks, least of all when he was in a hurry. His eyes were racing through the room searching for his spare pair of arms. Blaisois was ten already and it was his responsibility to serve the young master his midday nosh; that boy should be ready, but he was nowhere in sight.

One of the scullery maids, noticing the distress of the head of service signaled the door to the outside. There was never any need for any words with that man. Grimaud acknowledged the information with a grunt and moved that way, his thumb and finger already in his mouth, ready to whistle the call was always carried his commands at long distance. The indubitable sound that heralded that someone was in trouble.

The first call was not heeded, and Grimaud was getting ready to repeat it —half his mind engaged in the idea to serve both masters himself—, when a figure appeared around the corner of the house, carrying a book with worn out covers. Blaisois was idling the master's time with a book taken from the master's library and Grimaud took note on talking to the boy on the subject, but not now.

Blaisois passed under his protector arm, ducking his head as a preventive measure against Grimaud's swift and heavy hand, but that didn't shield him from feeling that hand in the bottom of his trousers as the expert dusted off the well-worn wool.

The trays were ready and getting cold, but Grimaud took a wet rag and gave that sweaty, flushing face a quick spruce up before fixing the collar and tucking the tails inside that too tight trousers, once it was done, with his mind on finding larger clothes for that growing boy, Grimaud put the young master's tray in Blaisois hands and indicated the door with a snort of frustration. As soon as the boy passed under the lintel, Grimaud followed him with the master's tray and a fixed gesture in his face that betrayed his annoyance.

"That's a man who needs to take the life less seriously," Euphrasie said to the people in the kitchen, a hand in her round belly. "Mark my words: One of these days he would keel over on us!"

The man to whom those grim thoughts were addressed was too busy slapping his ward's back to make him walk straight, if Grimaud had no time to change Blaisois's clothes, at least he would assure that his posture was correct before knocking on the salon door where both masters were at this time of the day. Time was scarce but maybe they had enough time…

"Come in!" The young master Raoul's voice called and they both enter the room.

Blaisois rushed to put the tray in young master's desk. Grimaud tried to turn a blind eye to that, since there is no way to make him behave now and presented the tray to his master who, in turn, examined his gaunt face, assessing where the trouble was; his eyes were piercing and inquisitive but he has no time to ask if there was something amiss, for the belfry started calling the devout to prayer. Grimaud took a step back, and cursed their lateness.

" _In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti_ " said the master, heeding the bell call and raising from his seat.

Raoul rose from his chair too, leaving his quill and paper in the desk, and standing still for the short prayer. That was not unusual in Bragelonne, the master was pleased with his Marian piety and was setting the example to his child, the servants were keen to notice those kinds of things and acted accordingly; therefore, every day, when the sun was high and the church bell rang nine times, all work was put to rest and those who know the prayer say it in quiet devotion and those who don't, uncover themselves and wait for it to end in respectful silence. It was done both out of devotion and to respect the master's routine.

" _Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariæ_ "

Since Grimaud only manage to remember _Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus_ and had no time to learn the rest, he hung his head and listened his master pray –it was not the first time-, his voice was usually followed by the young master's; Grimaud's ears were not used to Latin, but he can notice that the child's voice was far less assertive than that of the man.

" _Et concepit de Spiritu Sancto_ "

That voice was not Raoul's and made Grimaud's head spring up in alarm. That was a lot of nerve from a little boy who was not even worthy to name himself a knave. Blaisois, his head demurely hung in imitation of the master's head feigned to follow the prayer, but the edgy gaze that brat shoot to Grimaud told the old valet that he knew he was in hot water.

"Ave _Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum_." Raoul almost shouted; his face was all smile and admiration at Blaisois' stunt. " _Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus_ "

Grimaud could feel his teeth grinding, but he could not stop himself; for the moment he was properly pinned down and seething with rage. He couldn't disturb the master's devotion nor could he drag that cheeky boy by the ears all the way to the kitchen where he could remember Blaisois his right place and the appropriate behavior a boy like him should maintain while in service.

And yet, the master didn't seem disturbed by that rascal's intrusion, he called again in Latin and didn't growl when his son failed to answer him. By the second verse, Blaisois was getting smug about it, so much that he didn't even dart his not-so-ashamed eyes to Grimaud.

The little brat was enjoying himself.

The short prayer was being dragged on forever, a business that usually took only some deep breaths before life could continue was even longer now and Grimaud could feel his rage rising, like boiling milk, bubbling and sticking to the hot cauldron that his skull was. By the time his master reached the _Oremus_ , Grimaud was feeling a crushing headache budding behind his temples.

The prayer was over and Raoul sat at his desk waiting for his midday snack, and Grimaud was getting ready to whack some sense in that shameless boy when his master's hand fell on his shoulder, dragging his attention immediately. Funny thing, his anger vanished and his headache got dulled almost as if by magic.

"You should be proud, Grimaud," his master said with that leveled and sensible voice of his. Yet his expression with the knitted brow and stiff lips said another story, namely, that his valet ought to stop making a fool of himself. "That's a pretty gifted boy."

Like heck he was! Grimaud saw his wayward surrogate, who was chatting spiritedly with his young master as if everything was in its just place, like he was a guest instead of one working from sun up to sun down for his bed and board. Blaisois was in way to a lot of heartache, for he was forgiving what's right and proper.

The need to redress that awful conduct was gaining on Grimaud again and he scowled hard before spiting his contempt with as few words as he could muster: "Sow's ear!"

"Not a silk bag," his master corrected and picked up his drink from the tray, "a leather pouch."

Grimaud had forgotten he had been carrying the tray, suddenly he felt the tiredness of his arms, and he should have been gripping it with more force than was required. He placed it on a little auxiliary table to give his arms some rest.

"You were a lot worse until I put my hand upon you."

Grimaud was bright enough to notice when the master came to him with soft soap, so he nodded meekly his acquiescence and took his tray, ready to carry on with his work day, since there was no way he could change his master's point of view. Yet, his docility was transparent and his master took notice.

"O you of little faith…" His master sat on the windowsill with the cup of tea, his shoulders were shaking with the small laugh he tried to stifle.

Grimaud scoffed at the idea. Not even his master could make that boy more than what he already was. The time would come when the master notice one cannot put new wine in old bottles, but the child would be spoiled by then.

In fact, Blaisois was spoiled right now, Grimaud noticed by the way that slacker waited for him, reveling in every word that fell from their master's lips. That's smile was too wide to be acceptable, given that he made his superior fodder for derision and he eavesdropped a conversation that wasn't meant for him. A signal put the boy in the way to their kitchen, and a swift smack was given in spirit of correction.

Grimaud only lamented the force was tempered by the love and pride he felt for that unruly boy.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you expect? Athos is Catholic after all.
> 
> Also, I didn't translate the Angelus into English, because Grimaud didn't know it.


End file.
